Syndemic
by DarkGidora
Summary: After what happened in Manhattan, the Umbrella Corporation sought to investigate the possibilities of Gentek's research. In doing so, they crossed paths with the unexpected. Battle lines are drawn, hidden agendas are pursued, and another outbreak looms.
1. Infiltration

**Disclaimer:** Prototype is the property of Activision; Resident Evil is the property of Capcom.

* * *

Rain poured down on the ruined city streets, puddles forming in dozens of cracks in the asphalt and pavement, water flooding destroyed cars and military vehicles. Wind howled in between abandoned buildings, blowing light debris around. Lightning would occasionally illuminate the darkened streets, shattered glass and decaying corpses included. In the middle of the desolation, a squad of Marines had set up shop around the tarp-covered remnants of Blackhawk helicopter.

"Goddamnit Sarge, we've been pullin' guard duty all fuckin' month." Private Lewis Gregg muttered. "We finally get a call to action, and now, instead of guarding the bridges or shit, we're guarding a fucking wrecked chopper. It's fucking soaking wet out here, freezing, and…"

"Your point? Aside from me having to listen to you?" Sergeant Adam McAllister responded. Between the miserable weather and Gregg's whining, it certainly felt that they had been pulling guard duty for a _lot_ longer than a month to McAllister. "We got our orders, and we're following them."

"Yeah, but c'mon. We're told to fucking secure this goddamn helo, try to keep it intact but not to fucking touch it, because those goddamn fuckers from Fort Detrick would have a shit fit if we got our fingerprints on their toys?" As Gregg mentioned them, McAllister scowled. He didn't particularly care about the interservice rivalry bullshit which irked some of his subordinates; if the US Army had a unit that specialized in dealing with the fucking insane bullshit, fine, he'd do what they'd ask. But having seen Blackwatch operate, McAllister immediately hated them. They treated the Marines like meat shields, had no concept of why friendly fire was bad, and seeing them handle civilians who were possibly infected… _damn_. "I mean, if this crash is goddamn important enough to drag us out here in the middle of the night to guard, why the fuck haven't they just shown up and retrieved whatever the fuck is so important about it?"

"You're asking me what I think goes on inside the heads of those crazy bastards?" McAllister said, taking off his cap and scratching the back of his head. "I have _no fucking clue_. Right now, it just seems all they want to do is hole up in bases behind fucktons of virus detectors and let us mop up whatever's left."

"You think they're scared?" Gregg asked. "Y'know, of… that thing."

They had only recently been rotated in to the city; some of the Marines who'd been there longer, who had fought the infection, they had stories to tell. Things that they were ordered to keep quiet about. Things that sounded fuckng crazy. And after all he had seen, McAllister had to admit he believed those stories. "If it does exist… yeah, I'd be scared of it too."

"Y'know, they say it can be anyone. Anywhere."

"I know." McAllister said, placing his cap back on his head and pulling the brim down low over his eyes.

"So… what if we're guarding something it wants?"

"Then we're fucked." McAllister snapped at his subordinate. "Y'know, if you're trying to pass the time to make this shift suck less, you're not exactly succeeding. So kindly shut up."

As they stood there in silence and the rain came down, McAllister tried to push the memory of the conversation out of his mind. After only a month of guard duty, working alongside Blackwatch, his nerves were frayed. He didn't need to focus on some sort of unstoppable supervillain. Probably was just exaggerated bullshit. So McAllister put his cap back on, scanned the darkened city streets, and stood, cold, wet, and miserable.

After what seemed like an eternity, McAllister checked his watch; it was oh-three-hundred-eight hours. Sleep-deprived, stressed out, and standing out in a monsoon at three in the morning. "This sucks." He let slip, bracing himself for more of Gregg's whining. After an uncharacteristically long silence, he turned to his right.

Gregg's eyes bulged out at him, as a black shape in the darkness had an arm wrapped around his throat in a chokehold. Gregg struggled in an attempt to break free. McAllister caught a glint of a metallic object plunge into his subordinates neck; Gregg's eyes widened further, as his assailant sawed through a jugular and his trachea. As blood poured from the wound, the shape shoved Gregg out of the way; the Marine taking a shaky half-step forward before collapsing on his face.

McAllister levelled his M16A4 at a pair of dull red eyes, and Gregg's killer charged. It was too close; the aggressor managed to shove the gun barrel upwards before McAllister could fire. Something hard slammed into the side of the Marine's head. McAllister stumbled to the side, dimly aware that his rifle had been wrested from his grasp, struggling to regain his footing on the slick asphalt and reorient himself.

The sergeant was brought back to reality by a sharp pain in his chest. Looking down, he saw the handle of a combat knife protruding from his torso, held in a reverse grip by a gloved hand. As things started to grow even darker, McAllister wrapped his hands around the man's arm, while his gaze tracked up to those red eyes; the round, expressionless lenses of a gas mask.

The man twisted the knife.

* * *

Agent HUNK of the Umbrella Security Service waited until the Marine went limp before removing his knife from his torso. Quickly jamming the knife between two of the man's cervical vertebrae, just to make sure, HUNK let the body drop. After holding out his knife momentarily, letting the rain wash off the blood, he sheathed the blade.

Taking a knee, he retrieved the Marine's radio. Part of the plan was to report an incident with a leftover infected. Informants had suggested that in order to stop the package from being breached, they'd use an artillery strike with a mixture of high explosive and incendiary shells. That'd conveniently wipe out any trace of what really happened.

Turning away from the wrecked helicopter, he saw some black shapes moving in the darkness. A flash of lightning revealed it to be the rest of Alpha Team, approaching his location. One of the gas masked figured said, with a hint of pride "All clear, Sir."

"Anyone manage to radio out?" HUNK inquired in a neutral tone, sizing up the wreckage they had been sent to reach.

"No sir. They never saw us coming." The subordinate, Wolf said, again with that hint of pride. "Fucking jarheads were sitting ducks."

"Good." HUNK replied, this time letting his voice betray a little annoyance. While the Marines were easy enough to get the drop on, the Alpha Team leader knew all too well how easy it was for what were supposedly simple missions to turn into utter chaos in seconds. He didn't need his squad feeling cocky, at least, not while they were still on the clock.

There was no room for error; Alpha was on a strict time limit. Infiltrating Manhattan had been no easy feat, even with certain friends that the Umbrella Corporation had within the US government, and the fact Blackwatch was more focused on keeping the denizens of Manhattan in, rather than keeping other interested parties out. They only had a limited window to secure the objective and get out of the city.

Dropping to a knee, HUNK grabbed one of the stakes securing the tarp to the ground and pulled. The wind blew the loose corner upward, revealing the open door of the wrecked Blackwatch. Unslinging his MP5, he flicked on the underbarrel flashlight to provide some illumination. The Blackwatch troops aboard the helicopter were piled in a boneless heap on the floor, presumably having died on impact. One man was different; rather than black biowarfare gear, he was dressed in a dark blue service uniform. The silver rank insignia on the man's shoulder identified him as a Lieutenant Colonel, and given by the row of medals on the man's chest, he was someone important.

More important to HUNK, handcuffed to the man's wrist was a reinforced metal briefcase. Stepping inside, the Umbrella Soldier picked up the case, looking it over for damage. Satisfied that the case was intact, HUNK stepped out of the helicopter, his feet splashing in the pool of rainwater. Tapping another subordinate, who was surveying the streets for possible hostiles, on the shoulder, HUNK said "Wire, need a lock picked."

As Alpha Team's technical specialist climbed aboard the helicopter to ply her trade, the squad leader stood, keeping his finger on the trigger guard. The storm made slipping under the military's radar easier, but now that they had to pause for the lock to be picked, they were stuck dealing with the poor visibility. Above the howl of the wind and the tarp whipping around, HUNK could've sworn he heard gunfire in the distance.

Hearing Wire's boots splash down behind him, HUNK lowered his submachine gun and turned. Wire held the case open. Resting in the heavily-padded interior of the case was a clear vial with a deep red liquid inside it. Picking it up, HUNK turned it over in his hands. Seeing no damage to the vial, he tucked it in his satchel.

"That doesn't look like it belongs to you." A voice called out from behind HUNK.

At once, Alpha Team trained their guns on the person. HUNK quickly catalogued the new arrival. They wearing standard-issue combat gear; digital print camouflage, a Kevlar vest, and helmet, along with a black balaclava. Definitely a marine. A quick squeeze of the trigger later and a nine-millimeter bullet found its mark. The Marine's head snapped back, and he fell backwards. Keeping his weapon trained on the prone body, HUNK turned and glared at the rest of his squad. "Missed one."

"Sir, we got all the Marines…" Wolf began to explain, before the squad leader brushed passed him.

"Command, this is Alpha. Package is secure. En route to extraction point." HUNK said into his radio. Glancing over his shoulder, he added "Be advised, it is probable that a sentry has radioed out."

"Understood" A British voice, equally as cold and detached as HUNK's, replied. "Need I remind you that the corporation cannot afford to be tied to your actions if your team becomes compromised?"

HUNK clicked off his radio and motioned for his team to move. As they headed out, HUNK's muscles tensed. He had had a bad feeling about the mission they reached the containment zone. Without thinking, the Umbrella Agent dove to his right, seconds before his men started shouting obscenities and Wire screamed. He whipped around, training his gun on the aggressor.

It was the Marine he had shot. Somehow, despite the bullet wounds, he was back on his feet. More than that, the trooper had shoved his right fist _through_ HUNK's squadmate, whose screams had turned into a gurgle as one hand wrapped around the arm buried in her torso. The Marine turned his head to glare at HUNK. Then, in a series of frenzied motions, the creature tore his arm free, slammed the Umbrella trooper facefirst to the ground and stomped hard, flattening her head and sending fragments of her helmet flying.

"Open fire!" HUNK shouted, as he himself backpedaled and emptied the rest of his MP5's magazine into the creature's head and upper torso, as black-and-red tendrils began lancing into the Wire's corpse, rending flesh apart. More tendrils coiled around the monster, shifting it; the camo gear and balaclava changed into dark gray and black biohazard gear. The creature had lost a few inches of height in the transition and had a slighter build; looking exactly like Wire. The monster had just turned into the soldier it had killed.

The creature charged at the squad leader, who managed to duck under a right hook and sidestep an uppercut. His gun empty, HUNK turned and vaulted over a wrecked car, in what he knew was a probably futile attempt to put some distance between him and his opponent. The creature cocked its head to the side in what HUNK could only assume was amusement. Taking a knee, it reached under the car, black tendrils winding around its arms as it lifted the hunk of metal above his head. Every muscle in HUNK's body tensed up as the creature threw the car.

The rest of Alpha Team had been firing at the creature since HUNK had given the order. If their opponent had been human, the multitude of rounds from their assault rifles should've punched straight through it, probably hitting the commander after tearing sizeable holes through its body. However, despite the fact that it should've happened, it didn't. Hell, the bullets didn't even seem to be annoying it, much less killing it.

Wolf gritted his teeth. Pulling the pin on a frag grenade, he yelled out "Fire in the hole!" before lobbing it at the creature.

Without even looking, it caught the grenade in midair. It turned to face the rest of the squad, holding the grenade right on level with its eyes.

The explosion blasted the creature's arm apart, everything below its mid-bicep were gone, with red-and-black tendrils lashing around the stump. The armor and CRBN gear it was wearing was ripped in places, with deep wounds visible beneath, exposing the ribcage and organs as more tendrils slowly wove around the wounds. The combat helmet and most of the gas mask had been torn off by the blast; most of the creature's face and cranium were missing. Its lower jaw hung on to the remnants of its skull by a thread, its tongue rolling senselessly over mangled teeth. One eye, darkened by burst blood vessels, remained in what was left of its head, glaring at the Umbrella troops in a sick parody of rage.

It took a step forward.

And then another.

By this time, HUNK had managed to stagger to his feet, leaning heavily against a nearby wall. He had barely managed to dive out of the way of the car. Slapping a fresh magazine into his MP5, he managed a smirk at his team's actions. They hadn't killed the creature, but they did manage to distract it from him. Surveying the scene of his team backing away from the mostly-headless creature, HUNK planned his next move.

It seemed that their mission had just gotten a lot more complicated.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I'd like to thank NanoMoose for beta reading this for me.


	2. Clash

**Disclaimer:** Prototype is the property of Activision; Resident Evil is the property of Capcom.

* * *

Jack "Wolf" O'Malley, second in command of Umbrella Security Service's Alpha Squad, backpedaled as fast as he could. As the creature continued to stalk forward, tendrils lashed out from what was left of its head. Jagged plates of bone grew from its wounded tissue. As the monster's skull reformed, a disturbing click accompanied its jaw being anchored back into place. Similarly, jagged struts of bone grew from the stump of it's arm, black tendrils coling around. The digits on a skeletal hand twitched randomly.

Black-red muscular tissue began to knit over exposed bone, covering it, before in turn being covered by pale skin. After a final flurry of tentacles, the gasmask and helmet it had been wearing before the grenade exploded were reformed; leaving the creature no worse for wear. It charged at another Umbrella soldier who backpedaled while firing his gun full auto. The monster executed a side kick with enough force to send the soldier flying backwards; not stopping until he slammed into a wall and crumpled in a boneless heap on the pavement.

Through the panic, O'Malley ordered the rest of Alpha team to form up. The remaining six soldiers surrounded him, weapons raised and firing. The creature's legs tensed and it leapt, slamming into the trooper on O'Malley's right; both tumbling to the ground. The squad scattered as the creature planted its hands on either side of the screaming agent's head. After a moment, the helmet cracked under the strain, followed closely by the man's skull.

O'Malley, panicking, had backed up against a wall, as he watched the monster plant its foot on his fallen squadmate's chest, grab an arm, and pulled. The ribs broke with a snapping sound, the creature's foot sinking in to the chest cavity. Shortly thereafter, the man's shoulder gave way, and the creature tore it loose, the severed limb flopping around at the elbow. More black-and-red tendrils wove around the destroyed corpse. The creature tensed up as in seconds, the man was ripped apart and the tendrils receded.

* * *

HUNK weighed his options. His squad was hopelessly outmatched. Currently, the best thing about the situation was that the creature's attention was diverted to the rest of his squad. Still, that distraction wouldn't last long enough to allow him to get back to the extraction point in time. He needed something bigger. His squad was the only Umbrella asset in the field, and they were inadequate to the task. He recalled the briefing as best he could; the name of the Marine unit sent to guard the crash site.

Had the Marines been allowed to call Blackwatch, the operation would have been ruined. But now, their involvement would be useful. The storm had grounded the USMC and Blackwatch helicopters, and ground reinforcements would be too slow; relying on them for a distraction meant calling down an artillery strike. Intel said that the batteries had been aimed for the area ever since the helicopter went down; it was all a matter of making a call. It was not without risk, but it was the best chance to accomplish the mission. Using Blackwatch's own artillery to wipe away any traces of the corporation's involvement had always been part of the plan; at the moment, the creature was merely moving up the timetable.

"This is Bulldog Seven-One. ZEUS is my sector. Requesting Fire Support." He dutifully reported.

"Red Crown Command to Bulldog Seven-One. Say again?" A female dispatcher responded, her voice as detached and collected as HUNK's.

"ZEUS is here." HUNK repeated, "Requesting all available fire support be routed to the area."

With that, the USS Agent flipped off the radio and broke into a flat out sprint, paying no attention to the rest of his squad; getting the vial to the extract was all that mattered. They did not. He strained to hear the whistling of incoming shots over the sound of the rain pounding against the pavement and his gear.

* * *

A few members of Alpha Team, like O'Malley, were dumbstruck. Others ran, stumbling over themselves in blind a panic. O'Malley's blood ran cold as the creature's head snapped to the side, staring at him. The creature took a step forward, before cocking its head to the side, then quickly turning its attention skyward. O'Malley thought he heard a whistling sound, right before the ground shook, he went airborne, and everything went black.

* * *

The first shell landed some distance behind HUNK; still too close for comfort. The explosion was deafening and shook the ground beneath his feet. As he struggled to retain his balance, he reminded himself of the mission over the ringing in his ears.

The second shell must've hit a building before detonating, as chunks of masonry and pieces of glass fell alongside the rain. Blind luck was all that was keeping HUNK from being shredded by shrapnel or crushed by the debris. It wasn't the ideal tactical situation, but it was hardly the first that he had to depend on blind luck.

Third shell hit close; punched through the blacktop and detonated in the sewers below. HUNK lost his balance on the buckling pavement and fell forward. He threw his arms forward to catch himself, but they slipped on the wet asphalt and he landed on his face.

That was all that saved him from the mangled wreckage of what looked to be a Humvee, sent airborne by the fourth shell. It sailed barely over head, hit the asphalt, and tumbled to a stop as bits of metal went flying.

HUNK stopped counting the shells after that. Scrambling to his feet, he allowed himself a glimpse at back before breaking into a run again. There was still a very real danger to the mission; however, it appeared his diversion had been a success.

* * *

When he came to, the only sound in O'Malley's ears was a constant, dull ringing, and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. The world above him was spinning. So fast…something in his stomach twisted, and he rolled over onto his side, clawing at his gear. He tore off his helmet, fumbling with his gasmask. He barely managed to rip it off before vomiting his guts out.

Part of him was aware, that he needed to get to his feet and get to safety, but it couldn't convince the rest of him to get up. He _felt_ more shells hitting some distance away; the vibration shaking the ground he was laying on, but the damned ringing hadn't left his ears. He was dimly aware that despite the lack of electricity, an office building at the end of the block was lit up like a Christmas tree. It must've gotten hit by an incendiary shell, and the inside as dry enough to catch fire.

He rolled over onto his stomach, every inch of his body aching as he forced himself into a kneeling position. His vision dimmed and blurred, and the world still hadn't completely stopped spinning. He blinked repeatedly, trying to regain his sense of balance. A second building must've caught an incendiary shell, as things were starting to get brighter, and he could feel heat behind him and to the right.

A hand wrapped around his wrist, and he fell back to the ground as he tried to turn to face it. It was another Alpha Team member, in bad shape. A large, jagged chunk of glass was sticking out from between the man's collarbone and shoulder blade, near the base of his neck; and he caught a piece of shrapnel that had to have gone clean through him; blood seeping out of a gaping hold in his torso. The man began bobbing his head up and down; if he was trying to say something, O'Malley heard nothing over the ringing in his ears. O'Malley pushed himself away from the dying man, using his elbows to drag himself backwards.

He tried to reorient himself; staring past the wounded man at a pile of rubble, hoping if he focused enough on one thing, the world would stop spinning. The rubble shifted, rose, and fell off the back of the creature that attacked his squad. It had gotten mauled by the artillery; its bloodied head bent at an odd angle, while its torso was split apart; most of its entrails had spilled out; leaving the demolished upper torso connected to its lower body by virtue of its spinal column alone. And it was still moving, dragging itself forward using arms bent at odd angles by compound fractures.

The creature closed the gap between itself and the injured trooper in between it and O'Malley. Resting on its right elbow, it raised its left arm; the bloodied digits on its hand bent at painful-looking angles. One by one, they snapped back into their usual alignment, black tendrils forcing their way out of the knuckles.

As O'Malley watched transfixed, the hand clamped down on the injured soldier's face, lifted him up, and slammed him back down. Over and over again. O'Malley felt the twisting in his stomach again, even though there was nothing left in it. He tried to stand, but the fucking world didn't stop spinning and the ground didn't stop shaking and his legs gave out and he fell flat on his face. He propped himself up with his arms, struggling for every inch he rose off the concrete.

After an eternity of struggling, he forced himself to look up. The creature rose to its feet again; its form different. O'Malley blinked several times to clear his vision at the pale face framed by a dark hood of the creature towering over him. He didn't have any time to react as it scooped him up off the street by the throat, holding him up one-handed.

O'Malley wrapped his hands around the creature's wrist; trying to kick as hard as he could, but his legs wouldn't fucking listen. The creature looked at him with pale, inhuman eyes as he fought with every ounce of strength left in him. Another shell hit, bathing the street behind the creature in white fire.

It slammed O'Malley to the ground; O'Malley finding that no matter what, the pain could always get worse. As it straddled him, one fist raised above its head, it began to say something.

All O'Malley heard as his vision blurred and the ground shook beneath him and the fist came closer was the ringing in his ears.

* * *

Doctor Bradley Ragland walked the halls of Saint Paul's Hospital, hands in the pockets of the lab coat he was wearing over his green scrubs. He needed coffee. The day had been exhausting; aside from the usual emergencies, he had to field an inordinately long phone call from an "old friend" at Gentek as soon as he arrived at the hospital. They used thirty minutes to ramble on about how much information they couldn't share with him, as it was classified, and then asked if he would be willing to do some "freelance" work for them. Given that most of their staff that had worked on the Redlight and Blacklight viruses was dead (although the caller did not phrase it as such), they needed all the help they could get.

He told them he wasn't interested.

His old friend suggested that they might call their old friends in the US Army to handle negotiations.

He reiterated that he wasn't interested, adding that he recently just finished sending out sympathy cards to the families of his former colleagues who were killed in the Manhattan Outbreak, and that he was not ready to leave behind a widow and orphans at home.

They reiterated that their old friends in the US Army were rather interested in getting his aid, and that they could be very persuasive.

He assured them that he was well aware of how Fort Detrick handled personnel recruitment, but he was still very busy at the hospital, and as such, couldn't spare the time. Then he hung up.

That loomed over his head for the rest of the day. _Something_ had Blackwatch spooked; Ragland was fairly certain he knew who, or more accurately, what was behind that. But even that knowledge didn't really help; knowing the parties involved just made things more worrisome.

_And it had all looked to have been wrapped up, _Ragland mused to himself. Things had been relatively calm for the past few months. According to the news, the USMC had turned the tide and the effort to stop the infection was almost complete. New York City had weathered the worst bioterrorist attack in history, thanks to the bravery and courage of the Marines.

Ragland knew that wasn't truly the case, but it made a better story than what Blackwatch originally had planned; with the Marines serving as scapegoats for a nuclear blast designed to sterilize the island. That the city owed its salvation, both from the infection and Blackwatch's "treatment" for it, to Alex Mercer, the sociopath who unleashed the infection in the first place. Or at least, that the city owed its salvation to the sapient plague that was wearing Alex Mercer's face as a mask.

But things had been quiet. The Marines had been busy, relocating civilians to new quarantine zones, eliminating the infected, and shipping in supplies for the still-quarantined civilians. Things were still pretty far from normal; the city's government had collapsed, with widespread looting and gang activity that the remnants of the NYPD were unable to address. The Marines were policing where they could, but were strapped for manpower. As long as there was no danger to their operations, Blackwatch just didn't care.

And then, early that morning, Ragland, alongside most New Yorkers, was woken up by the sounds of artillery fire. A few months ago, that wouldn't have been so surprising; much of Manhattan had been burned or bombed. But after the quiet months, after a façade of normalcy had returned, it was jarring. All throughout the day, he heard speculation; the official story from the news was that the Marines uncovered a holdout of infected that was more than they had expected. A few of his colleagues who subscribed to conspiracy theories thought it might be an attempt by the government to quell civilian agitators. A Marine that had been posted as a guard cited a rumor that it was all a misunderstanding after a communications blackout, and "those creepy SOCOM bastards", as he referred to them, had overreacted.

He supposed he'd be getting the real story soon enough.

He stood on tenuous footing. If Blackwatch had the _slightest_ idea that not only was he not willing to work for them, but that he was lending aid to an enemy of the state… the results would not be pretty. He had no idea how he had gone so long without them scrutinizing him more closely, but he managed to stay under their radar. But the sword was still hanging over his head every day of the week.

It would be one thing if it had only been those isolated instances during the outbreak. A patient came to him, he gave advice. He had hoped that would be the end of it. It was not.

He stretched and yawned. It was late now, and he desperately wanted to get home. His wife had also been calling; she was nervous about the bombing raids and wanted him home as soon as possible. But he had one last task to do before he went home.

Every night, he would check up on a "Jane Doe" who had been in the hospital ever since the Outbreak. When Blackwatch sweeped the hospital with virus detectors and hadn't found anything, Ragland was _extremely_ happy the man who searched her room had not recognized her. Like her big brother, Dana Mercer was also a wanted fugitive.

Ragland was not particularly happy when Alex Mercer barged into his morgue, carrying the comatose girl. She had been kidnapped by the infected and dragged into a hive where Elizabeth Greene, Gentek's primary test subject and the source of the Redlight virus, lurked. Alex, who had previously enlisted Ragland's aid to save his own life, now recruited the Doctor to help him save his sister. According to every test Ragland had run, her bloodstream was clear of infection; but Greene had been generating new strains of the virus for over sixty years. Ms. Mercer remaining comatose ever since was worrying; Greene herself had been catatonic for over forty years until the proper stimulus came about to wake her.

He had managed to work up the courage to bring this up to Alex; who had the responded by scowling and storming off the premises. When it was reported later that day that one of the street gangs that had turned a block of downtown Manhattan into their own fiefdom suffered a massacre, Ragland figured his words had struck a nerve. As far as he could tell, the list of things that Alex Mercer cared about had only two items on it; murdering individuals involved with Blackwatch and Gentek, and Dana Mercer.

He opened the door to Jane Doe's room, stepping in the darkness to the sound of the slow, steady rhythm of a cardiac monitor. With the dismal state of public utilities, the hospital ran on emergency power, and most nonessential lighting was turned off whenever necessary. Closing the door, he found the light switch and flicked it. Dana Mercer lay unresponsive, as she had for the past five months. And, as she often did late at night, when most of the nurses headed home, she had a visitor.

Kneeling at the side of her bed was a figure clad in grimy a black motorcycle jacket, his head was covered by a gray hood. Ragland's eyes focused on the stylized red design on the back of his jacket. His left arm rested against the bed, while his right hand loosely held the patient's left. Ragland quickly opened the door again and scanning the hallway; making sure no nurses were around. Satisfied that they would not be interrupted, he turned back to his patient and her visitor and said "Alex".

He wasn't surprised. Alex Mercer often visited his sister late at night, and usually stuck around to ask Ragland if there had been any change in her condition. There never was. Earlier in the day, he was wondering if the day's excitement would mean Alex would miss tonight, but he figured the creature didn't have a busy schedule to catch up with.

An answer didn't come for several minutes, and Ragland was about to step out of the room when a raspy, guttural voice sounded. "Ragland. How is she doing?"

"There hasn't been any change." He said, adjusting his glasses. "She's stable, but unresponsive."

"Thank you for taking care of her." He said quietly, but his voice had a sharp edge to it, usually reserved for when Alex was discussing Blackwatch with the doctor. He gently brushed a few strands of brown hair out of her face, before standing to his full height. Ragland assured him that no thanks were required, and Alex continued to look over his sister in silence. Ragland scowled; Alex was never a particularly sociable individual, however usually he was calm, or at least what passed for calm for him, when visiting Dana. But at the moment, Ragland could tell that something had angered him; probably related to the incident earlier in the day.

After an uncomfortably long pause, Ragland decided to ask the obvious question. "Alex. I assume you know why Blackwatch just leveled three city blocks."

" Yeah." He said, his voice kept low as half turned. The tone of his voice, scowl on his face, and the predatory glint in his pale blue eyes suggested he wasn't in the mood to explain. Taking a breath, he stated "We need to talk."

With a sigh and a shrug, Ragland gestured to a chair next to Dana Mercer's bed. Knowing he probably would now be getting home much later than he intended, as was the custom when Alex Mercer needed to ask a favor, he adjusted his glasses and asked "What do you need?"

Choosing to stand rather than sit down, Mercer crossed his arms. He cast a brief glance at Dana, before turning back to Ragland. "Tell me everything you know about the Umbrella Corporation."

* * *

**Author's Note:** I'd like to thank Lang Noi and NanoMoose for their aid in beta reading this chapter.


End file.
